


Water and Skin

by AParisianShakespearean



Series: Dragon Age One Shots [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cullen Smut, Cullenlingus, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Finger Sucking, First Time, First Time Sex, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Outdoor Sex, Water Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 06:52:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11202720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AParisianShakespearean/pseuds/AParisianShakespearean
Summary: In the water, she is radiant.A shamelessly romantic sex and fluff story by the lake.





	Water and Skin

**Author's Note:**

> While I was editing my main slow burn fic, my hand may have slipped and wrote this. Hope no one minds.

Being sly was something he never prided himself in. But when he takes her to the lake, and sees her awestruck face, he is glad he chose not to be completely truthful with her about this particular outing. Then, when she takes him in her arms, and kisses him with all the fervor she has, he takes pride in coming up with the ruse about dealings to attend to in Ferelden. The title of the Inquisitor still hangs on her shoulders, but he is grateful, that for one moment in time, she can be carefree and joyous. He is grateful he can be the cause of it.

She bears the title of Inquisitor well. In all this time, she has never once complained about being Andraste’s Herald, being the leader of the new Inquisition, or being burdened with the weight of Thedas on her shoulders. Indeed almost every moment she had was devoted to her work. He was no different, in fact, he may have been much worse. There were moments between them where she pulled him into her arms and away from his desk. In those moments, she reminded him that he is still a man underneath the title of Commander. What was more, she reminds him he is a man who has found something wonderful amidst all the darkness. The least he can do, is pull her away and remind her that she is still a woman underneath her title of Inquisitor.

“Cullen,” she breathes between her kisses. “You are devious.”

Another kiss, and this times she moves to that sensitive spot on his neck, the one she discovered when they first began their new arrangement. She presses her lips there, and Cullen remembers her delight upon first discovering it. His mind is hazy, she alone has the ability to do that to him, but somehow, he manages a response. “Perhaps I…should be devious more often.”

“You should…”

Anymore of her peppering kisses, and he worries he will break his resolve and take her there, right on the pier. That though, wouldn’t be very appropriate for their first time together. She may not be a blushing virgin, and neither is he for that matter, but both still agreed a while ago that they shouldn’t rush into things. And he has done so many things wrong in his life. This will be the one thing that he does right.

That doesn't stop him for thinking of her often, however. He has thought of their first time together more times than he cares to admit. On his bed, on her bed, the desk, against the wall, and now on the pier by his favorite childhood spot.

This woman…he wants her more than he wants to breath sometimes. But he has to be sure. He has to know he is what she really wants.

“Honnleath is near here.” Cullen says, misty-eyed as he remembers how things were back then. “I would come here often to clear my head.”

Her head is now resting on his chest, and he loves holding her. Maker, she could shake the world if she so wished, but she is delicate in his arms, fragile. “It’s beautiful,” she says. “Did you come here often?”

He explains to her how even though he loved his siblings, they were very loud. And this place was always quiet. He could spend hours here when he was a boy. Thinking about the future, staring at the water. “The last day I was here was the day I left for the templars,” he recalls. “I wasn’t sure if I ever would make it back.”

“But you did,” she points out.

He nods. “I did. To you.”

One of her digits caresses the rough stubble that his razor never can catch. She always teases him about rough kisses, but he knows she loves the feeling of his unshaven face against hers. She now, is misty-eyed, pupils dilated and wide as she gazes at him with a slightly parted mouth. “Cullen,” she murmurs sweetly. “Do you know how lucky I am, that I met you?”

He’s the lucky one, he wants to tell her, but he is too busy kissing her. He thinks of his brother’s coin, the one he wants to give her, along with everything else he wants to say to her, but now he is far too preoccupied with her body, perfectly molded to his, and the earthy way she smells. He is content to be this way, for as long as she wants. It is paradise to have her in his arms. But when she breaks away, smirking at him, so does he.

He knows that cheeky smirk. And when she utters his name, he knows that cheeky tone. He also knows the devilish glint in her eyes. “What are you thinking?” he asks her.

“Well…” she draws, “I was thinking perhaps we could go for a swim.”

He blinks. “A swim?”

She chuckles. “It is a bit hot, and well, we are by the water. Would you like to?”

“Uhhh…” he doesn’t know how to admit it to her. “I…”

At his long pause, she understands. He never actually learned how to swim. He recalls the story to her as he remembers the events of that day. When he was around eight years old, Branson fell into the water. Without hesitation, he jumped in after him. He thrashed and thrashed until his father had found them and pulled both he and Branson up and onto the peer, soaking wet and coughing. That, in addition to two terrible boat rides from Ferelden, to Kirkwall, and back again, Cullen has averted the water.

She looks at him quizzically. “You had that experience and you still enjoyed coming here?”

“It was quiet,” he defends. “Besides, I suppose I have always been attracted to things that are dangerous.”

“Why you remained a templar for so long, I would imagine. Perhaps also explains your attachment to me.”

She says it playfully, and he can’t help but laugh. There’s more to his attachment for her than just her ability to find trouble. It’s everything about her. It’s how she never once complained about being the Inquisitor, and how she still finds ways to make everyone laugh, in spite of what’s happening. It’ about how she would give everything, if it was asked of her. It was how she saw him at his lowest point, clutching that vial of lyrium, and believed in him. She saw the strength, when he could not. He wonders if she knows that that day, she was the one who became his strength.

She falls into his arms again. “We don’t have to swim,” she says. “Being here with you, alone, is more than enough.”

He gets an idea. “Well, perhaps you wouldn’t mind teaching me?” he suggests.

She looks up. “Really? Cullen, are you sure?”

He nods. “I am.”

“We don’t have to. If you’re not comfortable, I don’t want to force you.”

“You’re here. Of course I’ll be comfortable.”

It is dark, even with the moon and stars. He can still see her cheeks reddening, however. “You will…have to strip, you know.”

He knows just that, just as he knows she too is going to have to do just the same. It seems though that she is waiting for him, so he carefully removes his mantle and breast plate, stripping until he is only in his smalls. She has seen his bare chest before, as she tended to a cut he received during training one day, and she knows the scars that he bears. Despite this, she gazes at him with curious eyes. She is certainly not shy in drinking him in, gazing at his long. toned legs from endless training and riding, to his chest, equally as toned. He can’t help but feel a surge of pride as her eyes follow that path of hair that leads to the slight bulge in his smalls. She says nothing, but when she meets his eyes again, he knows she is wonderstruck to be near him like this. Then, she herself begins to strip. When she is only in her small clothes, Cullen looks at her with those same hungry eyes. He has never seen her this unclothed before, and there is nothing but her breast band and undergarment separating her from being completely bare. Under the stars and by the water, she is mesmerizing. Like him, her skin bears a few scars. A few on her collarbones, and a long jagged one on her arm, but they do nothing to tarnish her beauty. He wants to kiss every one, mark every blemish with his tongue, to let her know that he sees, but he still wants. And he always will.

Her reddened cheeks deepen in color, and she moves her hair to one side, exposing the lovely curve of her neck. “I’ll get in first,” she suggests. “Then you can come in.”

He nods, almost forgetting what their original plan was. She sits on the edge of the pier, and she beckons for him to do the same. He mirrors her, his feet hitting the water. It is cool, but not unbearably so. He hadn’t dared to even do this much when he was little, but she fearlessly falls into the water. Much to his surprise, she doesn’t sink and is able to stand up, with only the bottom of her breast band hitting the water. He didn’t expect the water to be this shallow, but then again, he was only eight when he jumped in. The water would have seemed deeper then.

She extends her hand, and Cullen takes it. Ever so gently, he allows himself to slip into the lake. He is surprised, and not altogether unpleased by the feeling of it around him. It’s cool and welcome compared to the hot air, and he is shocked by how almost weightless the feeling is. Her hands are steadying him, and she is asking if he is all right.

“Yes,” he replies. “It’s…nice.”

Tentatively, she steps back until they are in slightly deeper water. Now only the tops of her shoulders remain uncovered, part of her long strands of hair getting wet. “I always have enjoyed being underwater,” she confesses. “Maybe for the same reason you liked coming here when you were younger. It’s quiet underwater, and peaceful. If I didn’t have to come up for air I might stay there forever.”

With her now, he wants to experience it. “Will you show me?”

“Would you be all right with that?”

“You’re here. I trust you," he assures.

She grins, placing her arms around his bare shoulders. In turn, he wraps his arms around her waist. “Three seconds underwater,” she says. “I’ll count to three, and if you don’t like it, you can come up.”

“Alright,” he says, and she begins the count.

On three the world changes. The world is blurry, but she is there, hair around her like a halo. It is strange, this underwater world, but it is quiet and peaceful, just as she said. It’s serene, having the sensation of the water everywhere. And perhaps if Cullen didn’t need to breathe, he would have stayed there longer.

When they rise she asks him if he’s all right again, and once again he nods. He thanks her, for showing him her world underwater.

“Thank you, for taking me here,” she replies, “Besides, it’s only fair I teach you something after you taught me how to hold a shield.”

He smirks when he remembers how he showed her the proper way to hold a shield, (The downward way, to prevent a spray of fire or acid,) and she promises the next time they go swimming, she’ll show how to dive. For now though, being here with him is all she wants.

Gently she allows the two of them to float. It’s a strange sensation, and it takes him a moment, but her body anchors him and he relishes the feeling of weightless floating. After a while, she begins to softly hum one of Maryden’s songs. She always hums, when she is content in his arms. For a few minutes, her gentle voice is the only sound in this world, a world were there is only water, and their skins.

It occurs to him they have never been like this before, not really. He has held her yes, but never like this. Before, it was always in stolen moments on the battlements or in his office, layers of armor separating them. Now they are in the water, and there is nothing separating their bodies save a few pieces of fabric. His hands are on her back now, moving in slow and rhythmic circles. Her arms are coiled around his neck, fingers twisting into his hair, and she looks at him as she has never looked at him before.

“Cullen,” she speaks. “I…do you wonder what will happen in the future?”

“Sometimes,” he admits. He doesn’t know how to tell her how he thinks every day with her is a lucky one, how he cherishes every moment that he has. How easy it is for her to be taken away, and how simple it could be that that the lyrium will one day whittle his mind. Because of that, sometimes the future seems too much to ask. It is still a future he prays for.

“What will you do?” She wonders, and he tells her of a thought that he had been harboring for a few weeks now. In the Inquisition, he has spoken to so many templars that want to leave the order someday, but the blue vial still calls to them. He thinks that perhaps there is a way they can more safely leave, and he thinks that maybe he can help them.

“It’s a wonderful idea,” she says.

“What about you?” he asks her.

“I don’t know,” she answers. “I can’t go back to what I was before. I don’t even know if…”

But she does not finish, and he knows what she is referring to. He has never allowed that possibility to enter his thoughts before now, but it surges and crashes through him, the fear that she might not make it out of this alive. Even when Corypheus is gone, she will still bear the mark. She claims it doesn’t pain her, but he sees her sometimes, contemplating it. And though she does not tell him, he knows she is worried. Worried that one day, the mark may take her away to where he can’t follow.

He will never allow that.

“No,” he mutters.

“Cullen, if—“

“No.” He holds her face in his hands.

“I want you to—“

“Never leave me. Please. _Please_.”

Her mouth travels downward, to his ear. A soft kiss to his neck. “I won’t ever leave you,” she whispers, “as long as you don’t ever leave me.”

“Never.”

Each kiss he gives her repeats the promise. I will never leave you. I will never leave you… “Cullen,” she breathes. The sound is melodious, and sends waves of contented shivers through him. She is his anchor in the water, and she glides them closer to the bank. When she rests her back against the grassy knoll, she beckons him with her arms. Her hands slide down his back as he lays himself atop her. She moans when she feels his hardness, pressing against her thigh. A brief image flashes in his mind, one of him forgoing romance and tenderness for a much more primal one, one in which he entangles himself with her. In this image their limbs are entwined, a thousand kisses bestowed, as his hands drift underneath, squeezing her until she mewls and whimpers underneath him.

He is thrown back into the present as her hands grip his hair. Her hips begin to move, seeking some sort of friction even as their bodies are still partially clothed. Her own want, need for him becomes known as she pleadingly whimpers his name, but as she tries to remove his smalls, he stops her. He needs to know this is what she wants. What she really wants, here, by the lake, the water lapping at their feet.

“Do you want…to be with me? Now?” he asks, his breath caressing her neck.

“Yes.”

There is no hesitation, but he needs to know without shadow of doubt. “We don’t have to. We can wait.”

Yet he can see in her eyes that she does not want to wait. He knows, and she knows, though he has cast that thought out of mind, that if any day can truly be her last day, she wants to live with no regrets. And Cullen knows, what it is like to live with regrets. He carries them every day.

His hands, linger at where her breast band is. With all his bravado in his earlier fantasy, he finds that now, he cannot move.

She holds him in her arms. “Cullen, if you’re unsure…”

“No, I want to,” he insists. “It’s only…It’s only…” How can he tell her, he doesn’t believe he ever deserves such happiness? That he doesn’t believe this can be real? He knows now, he will wake up. He will be in Kirkwall again, trying to find a way to break the chains again. He’ll wake, she’ll be gone, and the chains will never break.

Without warning she hooks her leg around him. The next thing he knows, he is on his back, and her lips are on every part of his face. Each kiss given is one of tenderness and patience. Knowing.

One lingers on the jagged scar on his lip. “I am real,” she says. “And I love you. I love your courage, I love how you endure. I even love how damn stubborn you can be sometimes. I love all of you. I want all of you.”

He takes her hand, places it over his beating heart. For all intents and purposes, it’s hers. “You are my second self,” he says.

“As you are mine,” she whispers back.

He wants to kiss her, perhaps bring her back into the lake until there is nothing in the world but the water and her skin, but she has another idea it seems. Her hands bring his to her breasts, and he begins to peel off the wet fabric of her breast band. She giggles, as he does so far too slowly for her taste. Before he can think that perhaps they should stop, someone could see, with one deft moment she tosses her breast band to the bank to be forgotten.

He cannot look at her without thinking that he is not worthy of this, or even that this is real. He’s afraid those thoughts always will always persist in some way, but her hands are in his, grasping them tightly, and letting him know that yes, this is no dream. She is really here, even if she is an unreal vision against the backdrop of the stars. She’s ethereal, and Cullen stares, wide-eyed at her naked body. Her breasts are full, nipples pink. Her eyes are pleased at his lust for her, and her rosy and pert mouth is set into a very satisfied smirk. Keeping that smirk, she takes his left hand, and slowly, brings it to her lips. One by one, she brings each of his fingers into her mouth. Her tongue laves his digits, and moans escape from his lips as she takes his other hand and does the same, allowing her teeth to playfully scrape at his skin. She then places his hands on her breasts, and Cullen rises, his mouth pressing and sucking into the soft valley between. He then lavishes her breasts, brushing his thumb against her hardening nipple. All the while, he savors the rhapsodic sound of her contented moans.

She leans him down to the ground, his back resting in the soft grass again. The kiss that they share is now a promise, a promise of more to come. His arms are around her, and rough and calloused fingertips knead her back. Her skin, still damp from the water is silky and smooth, and he gently rolls her over. With her back against the bank his mouth and tongue follow a path, down her throat and neck. He kisses that scar on her arm, following its path with his tongue. She gasps when his thumb brushes her nipple once more, and hands lock him in place as he encircles his mouth over it. His name is a strangled cry on her lips, sensual and further arousing him. But he continues with his exploration of her body, and commits to memory every little moan and sigh that escapes from her lips, as well as every motion that her body makes. She giggles when his bearded face peppers light kisses over her stomach. A wave of tremors convulses through her body as his mouth travels lower, to the waistband of her smalls. He keeps his eyes on her as he peels them off and away, and he keeps his eyes on her still, even as his head dips down to the fine and coarse hair, and lower still until his head dips to that little bundle of nerves.

Fingers twist tighter in his hair as he slowly laves at her clit. One stroke, and then another, and another still until her hand presses his head into her, a demand for more. He experiments with different patterns, swirling his tongue, then using the tip to make small circles. When he encircles her clit, her grip on his hair further tightens. He chuckles, and she moans at the slight vibration that it brings. The soft roll of his name on her lips becomes the most beautiful prayer. Her hips buck against him, and as he holds her in place, his hands can’t help but grasp her plump rear. Her cries are stifled and breathless, and she angles her hips just so when he squeezes her flesh. He can feel her end is nigh, even as she speaks a litany of affirmation and praise. _Yes Cullen, right there, I’m…I’m…_

He tongue keeps swirling her clit, even as he slides his digit inside her. When she comes, she does so without shame or embarrassment, unafraid to show him how responsive her body is to his ravishes. His name on her lips is a reverent thanks, a plea for more. She even tugs at his head, demanding he rise so she can bestow him with a thousand kisses. But he keeps his head planted between her thighs, and keeps his finger inside her walls. She is warm and tight, and Maker, he practically ruts against the bank as he thinks of what she will feel like when he slips his hard length inside her. He tastes her climax, and the salt and musk essence becomes the most exquisite thing he has ever known. She is the most exquisite thing he has ever known, and when he lifts his head and she can finally capture him in a searing kiss, her taste dances across their tongues.

Delicately, he buries his head in that soft hollow of her throat, kissing her neck and breasts as she runs her nails down his muscled back. Subtly, she begins to rock her hips against his, back and forth, back and forth, making him cry out. He is practically aching, has been since she first placed his hands on her, but as her hands touch the lining of his breeches, her intentions clear, he freezes. He allows himself this precious time to savor what they are about to do.

He knows that there are more moments to come, when he fears that the pain of his body craving the lyrium will rack his mind and make him think that losing his mind to it might be better than the anguish of his body. He knows now, he will forever cling to this moment. The memory of her under the moonlight and by the water will be his beacon. He will remember how there is beauty in her that exists in the soul and seeps through every part of her. Most of all, he thinks he will remember her eyes, peaking up at him with more tenderness, love, and understanding that he ever deserves.

She places her hands on his face, placing her forehead to his. A silent _I'm here_. Cullen holds himself there. “I will always want us,” he confesses.

“Then have me. Have me now.”

Gently, she begins to peel off his smalls. He helps her, and after a few minutes of struggling and a bit of laughter on both their parts, they are tossed aside. For the first time, now, as the water washes onto the knoll, he feels their bare skins pressed together for the first time.

She bits her lips, swollen from their ministrations, then lightly squeezes his rear as revenge from when he did it to hers earlier. Then, without taking her eyes off him, she wets her mouth, and slides her hand down to his length. His response is a sharp grasp as she slides her slick hand up and down. Maker, he has imagined this so many times, her hand on him and bringing him over the edge. He knows now though, his own rough and calloused hand was a poor substitute compared to her small and delicate palm. He is at mercy to her, and she knows it and savors it. And there is no other place he would rather be, than at her mercy and beckoning.

Any longer and she will finish him, but he grabs her hand, silently telling her to wait. “I want…” he begins, and she nods, understanding.

“Cullen. I want it to. I want you. All of you. I love you.”

She has made it abundantly clear already, reassured him a thousand times that what she feels is real. Yet when he hears it, he soars. “I love you too,” he murmurs back, and it is with one movement that he buries himself inside her.

He knows this feeling, and has experienced it before in rushed and hurried sessions with a few other women. Back then love was nothing but a fantasy, only a carnal lust to be met. Yet inside her, inside the woman he loves, and the only woman he will ever love, he knows this is the first time. She is warm and wet and tight, and for a few moments he remains blissfully still, enjoying the sensation of her for the first time. Yet the moments pass, and she tilts her hips upward. Her plea, _move_.

His resolve breaks and he moves within her, her face becoming a canvas of joy and pleasure. In this hazy paradise with only him, her and the water, there is nothing but these feelings of ecstasy and warmth as she kisses every part of his face. “Cullen…I’ve never…” she says in a lulling whisper. “You… _ah_ …”

“Get on top of me,” he beckons, and she is more than happy to hook her leg over his so she is now the in control. She licks her lips in anticipation, grabbing the base of his length before guiding him back inside her. She is deeper now, and he holds her hips as she moves, barely leaving him before slamming herself back down. Her fingers move to her clit, making round and circular motions, but he deftly moves them away so he can finish her himself. Her walls clamp around him, and the divine sensation of it all brings him to rise, intending to claim her lips. Their kiss is long and deep, and as he can feel his body begin to quake, he wraps his arms around her. He is about to tell her they should break away, but her lips press onto his ear, and she whispers to him how she is waiting for him, how she wants to feel him inside her.

When his body shudders against hers and his warmth spreads inside, he can feel himself collapsing, and she is warm and wet and utterly beautiful, kissing every part of his exposed flush as he tries to remain in this hazy dream for a little while longer.

They will never leave this place. They will always stay by this world they created, under the stars and by the water.

 

* * *

 

An hour passes, and they are fully dried, by a campfire that they have made. “So,” she begins, rather cheekily, “this is your natural hair.”

She runs her fingers through it, a curl bouncing off her finger, and he hopes she doesn’t see how much he’s enjoying this. “Only for you,” he teases.

It occurs to him then that he wanted to do something, before the night was done. He takes out his brother’s coin, his lucky charm, and hands it to her. They don’t know what will happen before the end, he says to her. Having this won’t hurt.

“But, I don’t want your luck to run out,” she says.

“After I finally have some, neither do I,” he admits with a chuckle. “But if it keeps you safe, it’s worth it.”

She takes it, meeting his lips for one more kiss. When she pulls away, her eyes turn soft, and loving. “You know I love you, right?”

He tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “You may have mentioned that.”

“But we were in the middle of making love. I thought I would tell you again. I love you Cullen. My second self.”

“I love you too,” he says, and the two lay down under the stars and sky.

Out of all the times Cullen came here as a boy, he would always imagine his life and where he would be in twenty years. She, this woman who he loves more than words can say, was never in those fantasies. Perhaps that was because his mind back then wouldn’t ever have been able to comprehend the love he feels. As a boy, he thought nothing would make him happier than his dream becoming a reality: the dream of being a templar. He couldn’t have ever have known, that the dream he never knew he had, the dream of her, would become realer than anything else in his life.

“The most beautiful woman is in my arms,” he whispers to his love. “And she loves me. And I will never let her go…”


End file.
